I calculate, my dear Sophy, that you have accused me at least a hundred
times of being lazy and good-for-nothing, because I have not written
since we left Dublin; but do not be angry, I was not well during the
time we were in Dublin, nor for two or three days after we landed: but
three days' rest at Bangor Ferry recovered me completely, and thanks to
Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet, and Dr. Merryman, I am now in perfectly good
plight.
To take up things at the beginning. We had a tedious passage, but
Charlotte and I sat upon deck, and were well enough to be much amused
with all the manoeuvring of the sails, etc. The light reflected upon the
waters from the lighthouse contracted instead of diverging: I mention
this, because there was an argument held upon the subject either at
Black Castle or at Collon. As we were all sitting upon deck drinking tea
in the morning, a large, very large, woman who was reading opposite to
us, fell from her seat with a terrible noise. We all thought she had
fallen down dead: the gentlemen gathered round her, and when she was
lifted up, she was a shocking spectacle, her face covered with blood,
she had fallen upon one of the large nails in the deck. She recovered
her senses, but when she was carried down to the cabin she fainted
again, and remained two hours senseless. "She has a mother, ma'am," said
the steward, "who is lying a-dying at Holyhead, and she frets greatly
for her." We were told afterwards that this lady has for twenty years
crossed the sea annually to visit her mother, though she never could
make the passage without swooning. She was a coarse, housekeeper-looking
woman, without any pretence to sentimentality, but I think she showed
more affection and real heroism than many who have been immortalised by
the pen or pencil.
Nothing new or entertaining from Holyhead to Bangor. A delightful day at
Bangor, pleasant walk: Charlotte drew some Welsh peasants and children:
we tried to talk to them, but _Dumsarzna_, or words to that effect, "I
don't understand English," was the constant answer, and the few who
could speak English seemed to have no wish to enter into conversation
with us: the farmers intrenched themselves in their houses and shut
their doors as fast as they could when we approached. From Bangor Ferry
we took a pleasant excursion to Carnarvon--do not be afraid, I shall not
give you a long description of the castle--I know you have seen it, but
I wish I knew whether you and I saw it with the same ideas. I could not
have conceived that any building or ruin could have appeared to me so
sublime. The amazing size! the distinctness of the parts! the simplicity
of the design, the thickness of the walls, the air of grandeur even in
decay! In the courtyard of the castle an old horse and three cows were
grazing, and beneath the cornices on the walls two goats, half black
half white, were browsing. I believe that old castles interest one by
calling up ideas of past times, which are in such strong contrast with
the present. In the courtyard of this castle were brewing vessels in
vaults which had formerly perhaps been dungeons, and pitched sails
stretched upon the walls to dry: the spirit of old romance and modern
manufactures do not agree.
Mr. Waitman, the landlord of the Carnarvon Hotel, accompanied us to the
castle, and he was indeed a glorious contrast to the enthusiastic old
man who showed the ruins. This old man's eyes brightened when he talked
of the Eagle Tower, and he seemed to forget that he had a terrible
asthma whilst he climbed the flights of stone stairs. Our landlord, a
thorough Englishman, in shrewd, wilful independence, entertained my
father by his character and conversation, and pleased him by his praises
of Lovell, of whom he spoke with much gratitude. We returned at night to
Bangor Ferry. Early next morning my father and mother, on two Welsh
ponies, trotted off to see Lord Penrhyn's slate quarries. We had orders
to follow them in a few hours. In the meantime who do you think arrived?
Mr. and Mrs. Saunderson, with all their children. They seemed as glad to
see me as I was to see them. They had intended to go another road, but
went on to Conway on purpose to spend the day with us. A most pleasant
day we did spend with them. They were going to Bristol to see their son,
and when they found that Emmeline was going there, they offered in the
kindest and most polite manner to take her with them. We parted with
Emmeline and with them the next morning; they went to Keniogy, which I
can't spell, and we went to Holywell, and saw the copper works, a vast
manufactory, in which there seemed to be no one at work. We heard and
saw large wheels turning without any visible cause, "instinct with
spirit all." At first nothing but the sound of dripping water, then a
robin began to sing amongst the rafters of the high and strange roof.
The manufactory in which the men were at work was a strong contrast to
this desolate place, a stunning noise, Cyclops with bared arms dragging
sheets of red-hot copper, and thrusting it between the cylinders to
flatten it; while it passed between these, the flame issued forth with a
sort of screeching noise. When I first heard it I thought somebody was
hurt: the flame was occasioned by the burning of the grease put between
the rollers. There were a number of children employed drawing straight
lines on the sheets of copper, ready for a man with a large pair of
shears to cut. The whole process was simple.
Saw the famous well, in which the spring supplies a hundred tuns a
minute. Went on to Chester and Newcastle, in hopes of finding Jos.
Wedgwood at Etruria: were told he was not in the country, but just as
our chaise whips up, papa espied Wedgwood's partner, who told him Jos.
_was_ at Etruria: came last night, would stay but one day. Went to
Etruria, Jos. received us as you would expect, and all the time I was
with him I had full in my recollection the handsome manner in which you
told me he spoke of my father. The mansion-house at Etruria is
excellent; but, alas! the Wedgwoods have bought an estate in
Dorsetshire, and are going to leave Etruria. I do not mean that they
have given up their share in the manufactory. Saw a flint mill worked by
a steam-engine just finished, cannot stay to describe it--for two
reasons, because I cannot describe it intelligibly, and because I want
to get on to the Priory to Mrs. and the Miss Darwins. Poor Dr. Darwin!
[Footnote: Dr. Darwin died 17th April 1802.] It was melancholy to go to
that house to which, in the last lines he ever wrote, he had invited us.
The servants in deep mourning: Mrs. Darwin and her beautiful daughters
in deep mourning. She was much affected at seeing my father, and seemed
to regret her husband as such a husband ought to be regretted. I liked
her exceedingly; there was so much heart, and so little constraint or
affectation in all she said and did, or looked. There was a charming
picture of Dr. Darwin in the room, in which his generous soul appeared
and his penetrating benevolent genius. How unlike the wretched
misanthropic print we have seen! While I am writing this at
Loughborough, my father is a few miles off at Castle Donnington. I
forgot to tell you that we spent a delightful day, or remnant of a day,
on our return from the Priory, at Mr. Strutt's.
_To_ MRS. MARY SNEYD.